


Dope Fiend

by extortionist



Category: American Idiot (Album), American Idiot - All Media Types, American Idiot - Green Day/Armstrong
Genre: F/M, this is short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 00:20:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11242359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extortionist/pseuds/extortionist
Summary: It wasn’t as if he was a drugged-out meth zombie with rotting teeth and skin falling off his face – no, he only had a few scabs from how itchy the heroin made him when he shot up.





	Dope Fiend

Johnny knew he was in trouble from the moment he opened the door to the apartment. She’d been standing in the foyer with her arms crossed and that angry expression on her face. Not just an angry expression, but _that_ angry expression. The expression told Johnny he was in big trouble and he was going to get his ass kicked if he even tried to escape the ensuing argument she was about to have with him. 

“I told you to get rid of the drugs,” she said. “I told you you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Johnny huffed out a sigh and threw his keys on the table standing in the foyer, kicking off his shoes with a hand on the wall to keep his balance. He took his time so he didn’t have to reply straight away, knowing he was about to get called out. With the greasy hair that had fallen out of his ponytail hanging in his face, he lifted his head and stared intensely at the wall. She was terrifying when she was angry, with striking eyes and curled fists that barely contained the rage he knew was hot inside her. He already knew what had happened – she’d found his stash.

“I’m a _functional_ drug addict.”

She scoffed. Johnny’s heart simultaneously fell to his feet and leapt into his throat. He wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t as if he was a drugged-out meth zombie with rotting teeth and skin falling off his face – no, he only had a few scabs from how itchy the heroin made him when he shot up. The dope was what _made_ him functional. Without it, the pain would return – the kind of pain that wormed through his bone marrow and made him ache in the depths of his soul or whatever metaphorical emotional organ that was poisoned by the deep-seated trauma of his childhood. 

“As if that’s going to last for long,” she said. She shook her head and pulled her hair back, turning away from Johnny to look out the bedroom window through the open doorway. Her muscles flexed as she moved, a beautiful lithe creature, and Johnny felt a pang of guilt that was quickly replaced by a wave of stubbornness. 

“This isn’t about you,” he found himself saying. “What are you, my mother? My body, my rules. You don’t get it, whatever. Don’t pretend you know what’s best for me.”

Guilt hit him again as she turned back to face him, her face twisted in repulsion. “ _Don’t pretend_ I don’t know what drugs do to people. Look at yourself in the fucking mirror, Johnny. You think you’re anything like the guy I first met you as? You only sleep when you’re nodding off. You disappear for hours on end. Your arms are practically fucking gaping with cuts. You’re one needle away from an overdose every time you shoot up. Every time you leave I don’t know if it’s going to be the last time I see you. This isn’t about me playing mother. It’s about me being concerned about another human being’s life.”

“Why am I not surprised that’s all I am to you? _Another human being._ ”

“Stop it, Johnny. Just fucking stop.”

Johnny gritted his teeth and pushed past her to enter their bedroom, unbuttoning and pulling off his pants so he could crawl into bed and ignore everything that was happening. He could hear his dealer’s voice in his head laughing at him – _Your girl doesn’t know shit about you, Jesus. Sure, she’s pretty, but she ain’t gonna save your life now, is she? That’s what you’ve got me for._ Shaking his head, Johnny dug his nails into his wrist as he felt her grab him by the shoulder and turn him back around to face her. 

“This is my fucking apartment, Johnny. You want to shoot up, fine. I can’t stop you. But you’re not going to leave your fucking heroin around here. No needles. No drugs. None of that bullshit. You leave that wherever the fuck you go to do this shit.”

Her touch was burning him. He shrugged her off his shoulder and stared at the holes in his socks, unwilling to make eye contact when he knew her anger would get to him. “Fine,” he managed to say eventually. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and curled in on himself, burying his face in his hands. He was a horrible person. He didn’t know how to act; he didn’t know how to tell her she was his everything. When he lifted his head he realized with a dull pang of shock that he’d been crying; his palms were slick with tears and he wiped them on his bare legs, looking up through his hair at her standing above him. 

She sighed and sat down behind Johnny on the mattress, sinking in slightly and reaching out to gently rest her hand upon his back. “You exhaust me,” she said as she rubbed his back. Her voice was softer now, without the harsh edge it had when she scolded him. “I don’t know how you feel but I know I don’t want to see you hurt.”

_I know how you feel,_ said his dealer in his head. _You’re a worthless, pathetic piece of shit but you’re on top of the world with my dope. Yeah? Yeah, bingo. Time’s running out, Jesus. You’ll be back soon._

“Johnny?” she said, snapping Johnny back to reality. He sighed and leaned into her, burrowing his face into the crook of her neck and trying not to show her how desperate he was for the physical contact. His inner child needed a hug, to feel her arms around him, to sleep next to her and feel safe. His adult guilt was crushing him knowing he’d broken his promise and brought his addiction into her life like a hurricane of lies and destruction. He didn’t care about the collapsed veins, the overdoses that made him vomit and ache. He didn’t care that he’d lie and cheat and steal to support his problem. He didn’t feel human without it. 

“I disgust myself,” he whispered, pressing his lips against her shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut. “I disgust myself.”


End file.
